The exercise:
Write about something or someone that is: temperamental.
Apparently I fell asleep with my hand on the space bar. Let's just say it was easier to delete the original post and start again than trying to fix the formatting issues that created.
Anyway. I was able to leave work an hour early this evening in order to give Kat a little birthday surprise. They had called someone in to cover the gym while I presided over the league in the alley, and she was happy to close up for me so that I could leave as soon as things were finished down there.
Kat had no idea what I was up to until I sent her a text from our driveway - I figured it was best to give her a touch of warning, rather than just walk through the door and have her be in the bathroom or in the bedroom dealing with Max. I didn't want to give her a heart attack.
It was a beautiful, sunny day here. I'd say that's the least the weather could do for my wife's birthday.
Mine:
"So, when you said the ignition in your truck was a little temperamental..."
"Boy, is she ever!"
"What you actually meant was that sometimes it starts the engine..."
"Yup. At least seven out of ten tries. Maybe even eight, if the weather is nice!"
"And sometimes it shocks you so bad that you lose all feeling in your right arm for five hours."
"Usually it's more like six. Though there was that one time it lasted for a full twenty-four hours."
"A full...?"
"So you should consider yourself lucky, if you think about it!"
Sunday March 30th, 2014
The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: boiling.
Since tomorrow is Kat's birthday, we went up this evening to her parents place to have turkey dinner. Because... that's just the sort of family I've married into.
Anyway. It was delicious, as expected. And Kat's dad made her a gluten, dairy, and soy free birthday cake that turned out to be absolutely amazing. The recipe is from this cookbook, which I happened to buy Kat for Christmas while we were in Calgary. She's been using it a lot since then and there have been far more hits than misses.
I'm glad we were able to do a little celebrating today, as Kat is helping out with an online class for most of tomorrow and I'm working an evening shift. We'll go do something, just the two of us, later this week, but that's still a sucky way for a birthday to go.
Mine:
"So, Alex," Jonas said as he settled into the couch across from his guest, "why don't you tell us how you met our daughter?"
"I should check the tea kettle," Karen said with an apologetic shrug. "But you go ahead, dear. Tell my husband all about it - he can fill me in later."
"Oh, uh, sure." Alex rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans and prayed the sweat would blend into the dark material. "So May and I have this, uh, mutual friend I guess you could say. He..."
The rest of the response was lost to Karen as she moved into the kitchen that was tucked around the corner from the living room. She was unconcerned, knowing that Jonas was an excellent judge of character. She trusted him completely.
On the stove the tea kettle rattled its way toward a high pitched whistle. The teapot and cups waited patiently in the living room, lurking on the coffee table between her husband and their daughter's would be beau. They would be drinking a fine Rooibos blend in less than five minutes.
Unless, of course, her husband gave her the signal when she returned to the room. In that case, the boiling water would not go in the teapot, but instead go directly onto Alex's lap.
Write something that has to do with: boiling.
Since tomorrow is Kat's birthday, we went up this evening to her parents place to have turkey dinner. Because... that's just the sort of family I've married into.
Anyway. It was delicious, as expected. And Kat's dad made her a gluten, dairy, and soy free birthday cake that turned out to be absolutely amazing. The recipe is from this cookbook, which I happened to buy Kat for Christmas while we were in Calgary. She's been using it a lot since then and there have been far more hits than misses.
I'm glad we were able to do a little celebrating today, as Kat is helping out with an online class for most of tomorrow and I'm working an evening shift. We'll go do something, just the two of us, later this week, but that's still a sucky way for a birthday to go.
Mine:
"So, Alex," Jonas said as he settled into the couch across from his guest, "why don't you tell us how you met our daughter?"
"I should check the tea kettle," Karen said with an apologetic shrug. "But you go ahead, dear. Tell my husband all about it - he can fill me in later."
"Oh, uh, sure." Alex rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans and prayed the sweat would blend into the dark material. "So May and I have this, uh, mutual friend I guess you could say. He..."
The rest of the response was lost to Karen as she moved into the kitchen that was tucked around the corner from the living room. She was unconcerned, knowing that Jonas was an excellent judge of character. She trusted him completely.
On the stove the tea kettle rattled its way toward a high pitched whistle. The teapot and cups waited patiently in the living room, lurking on the coffee table between her husband and their daughter's would be beau. They would be drinking a fine Rooibos blend in less than five minutes.
Unless, of course, her husband gave her the signal when she returned to the room. In that case, the boiling water would not go in the teapot, but instead go directly onto Alex's lap.
Saturday March 29th, 2014
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: cats and dogs.
It wasn't a particularly nice day here, weather wise, but we still took Max to the park to get some fresh air and exercise. We were hoping there would be other kids there for him to play with, as his week with his cousin seems to have utterly spoiled him, but we had no luck on that front.
Ah well, at least StrongStart begins again on Monday.
Mine:
Throw a stick,
I'll chase it anywhere!
Throw that stick?
I suppose. If you dare.
Write a four line poem about: cats and dogs.
It wasn't a particularly nice day here, weather wise, but we still took Max to the park to get some fresh air and exercise. We were hoping there would be other kids there for him to play with, as his week with his cousin seems to have utterly spoiled him, but we had no luck on that front.
Ah well, at least StrongStart begins again on Monday.
Mine:
Throw a stick,
I'll chase it anywhere!
Throw that stick?
I suppose. If you dare.
Friday March 28th, 2014
The exercise:
You, or a character of your creation, are the recipient of an award (of your choosing). It is time to give the big acceptance speech. Except this one will not be big.
It will only last four lines.
Go.
Mine:
Well, I think we can all agree that it's about bloody time.
I mean, honestly, with all the work I've done, all the sacrifices I've made, it's obvious I should have received this award years ago. What sort of inbred, backwater hillbilly would you have to be in order to not see such a simple truth?
Speaking of which... if the head of the selection committee could make his way up to the stage now, I'd love to take this Lifetime Humanitarian Achievement Award and shove it somewhere special.
You, or a character of your creation, are the recipient of an award (of your choosing). It is time to give the big acceptance speech. Except this one will not be big.
It will only last four lines.
Go.
Mine:
Well, I think we can all agree that it's about bloody time.
I mean, honestly, with all the work I've done, all the sacrifices I've made, it's obvious I should have received this award years ago. What sort of inbred, backwater hillbilly would you have to be in order to not see such a simple truth?
Speaking of which... if the head of the selection committee could make his way up to the stage now, I'd love to take this Lifetime Humanitarian Achievement Award and shove it somewhere special.
Thursday March 27th, 2014
The exercise:
Write about something that is: sloppy.
Was back working at the gym this evening. I'm grateful it was a quiet night, as I would have been much happier resting at home. At least it's done now and I can focus on getting stuff done on the farm and around the house until I work again on Monday.
I should get this written before I fall asleep.
Again.
Mine:
His shirt was white, once. In a previous life. I imagine it sitting happily on a display table in some trendy shop, all of its multi-coloured friends nearby.
I see those friends disappearing, by ones and twos. How sad that must have been. Then one day it was its turn and I picture its joy and eagerness to see its new home, to make new friends.
If only it had any idea what was in store for it.
Those glorious, crisp, clean days are long gone now. That pure, youthful visage a distant memory. Now it is decorated with spaghetti stains, blueberry handprints, and other, less identifiable markings.
It must be so embarrassed when it is worn outside. How awful it must feel when it encounters its old shelf mates on the street, still in pristine condition. Does it question its fate? Wonder what it did to deserve such a sloppy owner?
His birthday is coming 'round again and I want to buy him a new white shirt to replace this one. But that seems cruel, somehow. Both to the poor, abused shirt he owns now, and to the new one I would be condemning to the same fate.
Write about something that is: sloppy.
Was back working at the gym this evening. I'm grateful it was a quiet night, as I would have been much happier resting at home. At least it's done now and I can focus on getting stuff done on the farm and around the house until I work again on Monday.
I should get this written before I fall asleep.
Again.
Mine:
His shirt was white, once. In a previous life. I imagine it sitting happily on a display table in some trendy shop, all of its multi-coloured friends nearby.
I see those friends disappearing, by ones and twos. How sad that must have been. Then one day it was its turn and I picture its joy and eagerness to see its new home, to make new friends.
If only it had any idea what was in store for it.
Those glorious, crisp, clean days are long gone now. That pure, youthful visage a distant memory. Now it is decorated with spaghetti stains, blueberry handprints, and other, less identifiable markings.
It must be so embarrassed when it is worn outside. How awful it must feel when it encounters its old shelf mates on the street, still in pristine condition. Does it question its fate? Wonder what it did to deserve such a sloppy owner?
His birthday is coming 'round again and I want to buy him a new white shirt to replace this one. But that seems cruel, somehow. Both to the poor, abused shirt he owns now, and to the new one I would be condemning to the same fate.
Wednesday March 26th, 2014
The exercise:
Write about: defiance.
Back home in Osoyoos, safe and sound. Max slept for almost the entire drive from Dawson Creek to Fort St. John, and the majority of the flight from Vancouver to Penticton. The flight to Vancouver was mostly good, but unfortunately we had to wake him up to get him off the plane in Penticton.
He complained about that for most of the drive home.
Thankfully he was happy to see all his toys again, even if he was calling for Dati (Natalie) while he rediscovered them.
Regardless, I am happy to be here again. Despite being quite ready to fall flat on my face and snore the next however many hours away.
Mine:
It is true. Our enemies hold the high ground. They outnumber us. Without question, they believe the battle that will begin in the coming hours will end for them in glorious victory.
They are wrong. Their memories have failed them. They do not recall who waits to parry their swords, dodge their arrows, split their skulls. They have forgotten who we are.
We are warriors. Our brothers and sisters are warriors. Our fathers and mothers are warriors. Our family trees have roots which dig deep into the earth, eager for the furnace of the Earth's core. Their tips do not burn, do not blacken, do not die.
They are shaped and hardened, like swords in a forge at the hands of expert bladesmiths. Those roots drink deeply from the wells of violence that have formed during the long, bloody history of this planet. They infuse our bloodline with the iron will of warriors.
We do not care about odds. When we go to war we do not accept defeat as an option. We are warriors. We will grasp victory by the throat, refusing to loosen our grip until it belongs to us, body and soul. Our enemies will be vanquished, high ground and superior numbers be damned.
There is no other ending to be written to our story.
Write about: defiance.
Back home in Osoyoos, safe and sound. Max slept for almost the entire drive from Dawson Creek to Fort St. John, and the majority of the flight from Vancouver to Penticton. The flight to Vancouver was mostly good, but unfortunately we had to wake him up to get him off the plane in Penticton.
He complained about that for most of the drive home.
Thankfully he was happy to see all his toys again, even if he was calling for Dati (Natalie) while he rediscovered them.
Regardless, I am happy to be here again. Despite being quite ready to fall flat on my face and snore the next however many hours away.
Mine:
It is true. Our enemies hold the high ground. They outnumber us. Without question, they believe the battle that will begin in the coming hours will end for them in glorious victory.
They are wrong. Their memories have failed them. They do not recall who waits to parry their swords, dodge their arrows, split their skulls. They have forgotten who we are.
We are warriors. Our brothers and sisters are warriors. Our fathers and mothers are warriors. Our family trees have roots which dig deep into the earth, eager for the furnace of the Earth's core. Their tips do not burn, do not blacken, do not die.
They are shaped and hardened, like swords in a forge at the hands of expert bladesmiths. Those roots drink deeply from the wells of violence that have formed during the long, bloody history of this planet. They infuse our bloodline with the iron will of warriors.
We do not care about odds. When we go to war we do not accept defeat as an option. We are warriors. We will grasp victory by the throat, refusing to loosen our grip until it belongs to us, body and soul. Our enemies will be vanquished, high ground and superior numbers be damned.
There is no other ending to be written to our story.
Tuesday March 25th, 2014
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: reluctance.
Heading back to Osoyoos tomorrow. Going to miss little Natalie and her antics. And her mom and dad as well, obviously.
I suspect Max will also, once he figures out they're not coming with us.
Fingers crossed for clear roads and smooth flights, and I'll see you all again from warmer climes tomorrow night.
Mine:
Child, I hate to leave,
but I have to go. So may
this parting be brief.
* * *
Furrows forged by feet
which dragged, a weight carried by
slim shoulders that sagged
Write two haiku about: reluctance.
Heading back to Osoyoos tomorrow. Going to miss little Natalie and her antics. And her mom and dad as well, obviously.
I suspect Max will also, once he figures out they're not coming with us.
Fingers crossed for clear roads and smooth flights, and I'll see you all again from warmer climes tomorrow night.
Mine:
Child, I hate to leave,
but I have to go. So may
this parting be brief.
* * *
Furrows forged by feet
which dragged, a weight carried by
slim shoulders that sagged
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